


In Another Lifetime

by th3craft3r



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:06:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/th3craft3r/pseuds/th3craft3r
Summary: A story set a few centuries after the current timeline in the books and the Kingdoms are at war again because let's face it, that's where mankind is good at. Pacts are honored. Destinies are finally fulfilled.





	1. Dancing Maid in a Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a little connection to House Snow of Snowfall.

Jon sighs as he gulps down another cup of ale while he mulls his current predicament. The dying embers from the hearth giving his solar an eerie yet warm atmosphere. The howling of dire wolves outside the castle sends a chill on his spine. He glances over his shoulder and looks at the portrait of his ancestors frowning down at him from where they hang on the walls. _“Ah, it seems that I cannot escape my duties just like you.”_ He tells himself as his eyes settle on the very first Jon Snow - the founder of House Snow. He always looks to be brooding. _“And it looks like that I inherited your temperament as well.”_ Next to Jon is the portrait of his wife, Val - the Wildling Princess. She is smiling but the common folk is right, she didn’t need to smile to turn people’s heads. Even through just a portrait, she looked regal without even trying - or maybe the artist who painted it was just gifted to catch the essence of the people they are painting.  
He stands up and walks over to stand by the window where the light of the moon is filtering through. A mild snow is falling outside Snowfall as the people slumber. A lone sentry is patrolling the battlements.  
He unrolls the missive again and reads it.  
_“… Thereby, The King in the North summons you to come to Winterfell together with your vassals and their men. The pact must be honored.”_ The last lines read and then he walks back to the hearth and throws the parchment into the embers. Before he leaves, he eyes Longclaw resting on top of the mantel. With a final sigh, he turns to walk out the room.

* * *

 

  
The lack of sleep is evident in his eyes as he mounted his horse while his men also mill about and finish their preparations for their journey South - to Winterfell where they will join the rest of the northern army. Jeor, his cousin smirks at him as he mounts his own horse. “So, we are marching off to war then?”  
“I do not like it,” Jon answers as he wrings his hands.  
“At least Aemon does,” Jeor says as he stares at his elder brother who is conversing with a maester. Jon made him castellan of Snowfall until he returns. “If I return.” The thought passes on his mind. He is not overly fond of Aemon who covets his place as the Lord of Snowfall. Aemon, Jeor and Lyn could’ve been the heirs of House Snow if Jon’s mother Valerie didn’t come out of her mother’s womb three minutes before her twin brother Valerian.  
“I just hope he doesn’t fuck everything up.” Jon comments then urge his black destrier forward towards the gate. Jeor follows him and then his army. Three hundred horsemen and thrice as many warriors.

* * *

 

  
They arrive in the battlefield a month after they left Snowfall. And everything is in chaos. For two days they were marching in haste to reach Seagard where the treacherous Ironborn are attacking in the west. To the east, the Knights of the Vale are defending their shores against the forces of the Triarchy of Tyrosh, Lys and Myr who saw the weak Iron Throne as an easy picking since there are no more dragons in Westeros or anywhere else, save for the dimwitted King Valar Targaryen who is in a slow epiphany of following his ancestor Aegon the Unworthy.

Back to the matter at hand, the Ironborn are laying siege to Seagard and all along the Western coast. The vanguard of the Northern army is engaged in battle outside of the Mallister castle. From where Jon is, he sees that the army is in danger of getting flanked. Tired from their gallop, he unsheaths Longclaw from his scabbard then gives the order. “Charge!” he yells at the top of his lungs. The sounds of horn and trumpets follow as they descend on a low hill to the battlefield below. The Vanguard is in danger of being annihilated. The Tallhart bowmen are already retreating while the Dustins and Glover spears are doing their best to hold their line but the fanatic Ironmen are cutting through them.

Jon gives a signal and the Manderly knights break off to attack towards the right of the exposed enemy flank, their blue-green capes billowing in the wind and the light reflecting at the tips of their lances. Meanwhile, he leads his men towards the center where the fighting is heaviest. He arrays his men in a spearhead. They execute a two-pronged attack with Jeor leading another contingent of their riders  The shock and force of their sudden charge, sends some of the Ironmen running and boosts the morale of the footmen already fighting. His heart thunders against his chest as he and his men break into the ranks of the enemy, hacking every iron born along the way. At the same time, The Manderly knights crash on the right flank and the enemy is in chaos but some still stand their ground, especially those guarding over the siege catapults.

With Longclaw, Jon feels like he’s cutting through butter as he gallops on. He sees the royal banner and the familiar auburn hair, surrounded by three Wolves. A horde of the enemy is slowly encircling them.

“Damn it. Why is she here?” Jon curses as he halts then waits for his men to reform their line before charging once more. They have to contend with a thick mass of enemy before they can reach the King’s banner. An ironborn throws a spear at him but misses and instead hits his destrier, sending him groaning in the ground. With Longclaw in hand, he manages to stand up. The fighting rages around him. Some of his men are already dead. “Feeling sleepy?” Jeor pulls up beside him as he catches his breath. His breastplate is covered in blood but he is still grinning.

“I lost my horse,” Jon says. An enemy soldier runs for him. With quick reflexes, he dodges the axe then promptly hacks the man’s arm off then cut him through the back. Jeor joins him on foot as they cut their way through the enemy. He sees the gates of the castle opening and the rest of the Mallister Knights sallying forth. He finally reaches the King’s standard - The crowned Stark direwolf running on a field of grey and green is being held by a scared looking squire who had pissed himself. The king’s sister is leading the guards. Jon feels annoyed but rushes to her aid. He is just in time to deflect a spear meant for her. But then he is hit with an arrow on his thigh. He grimaces in pain but continues on his way.

“You’re late, Lord Snow.” The princess shouts amid the din of battle. Her auburn hair sways in the wind and her face, caked with mud and blood. Already one Wolf is dead defending her folly.

“You’re welcome by the way.” Jon sneers. “Why are you here?” he asks her as he deflects another ax blow and promptly stabs the man unlucky enough to get in his way.

There is no answer for she is preoccupied not getting skewered by a spear. She throws a dagger and hits a soldier in the eye. She quickly turns and stabs another enemy in the gut. It almost looks like she is just dancing amidst the slaughter. A blunt blow is deflected by her vambrace and she punches the offender first then knock him out with the butt of her sword before dispatching another soldier with a slash of her sword. She smirks as the lifeless body falls.

"I got this under control," the princess tells him after a lull.

Jon raises his brow. "Try convincing yourself that." he quips then charges again into the fray.

Then another horn sounds. “Mormonts.” Jon thinks and then sees the rest of their lagging infantry finally arriving on the field, hot on the heels of his hurried charge. Mormont warriors, Cerwyn spearmen, Umbers and Karstarks all came along with Hornwoods and Flints.

Seeing the rest of the Northern Army took the fight out of the ironborn for now. They retreat in disarray, leaving their siege engines behind. The Mallister and Manderly knights chase the retreating enemy back to their own longships.

* * *

  
That night, they count their losses. The Vanguard lost almost half of their men, the majority were from Barrowton and The Rills and then including Ethan Glover - one of the Wolves (Equivalent of a Kingsguard in the North). The young Lord Peter Mallister is also severely wounded. Lord Cley Ryswell and Lord Symund Flint are also dead. For Jon, he lost sixty-two Snowmen. But they have taken prisoners as well, most notable among them are Balon Pyke, bastard brother of Lord Marron Greyjoy and Lonnel, Lord of Harlaw.

They camp outside Seagard and set about burying their dead and treating the wounded. The rest of the Riverlords are called up to fight in the east and left their western shores undefended. That is maybe why the ironborn attacked.

“You fought surprisingly well, Lord Snow.” Jon hears the familiar voice. He turns and sees her standing just outside his tent. _“Was that a jibe?”_ He thought. “It is a wonder you survived at all Lady Sansa.” Jon tells her. “What madness drove you to lead the vanguard yourself?” He questions disinterestedly trying to ignore her icy gaze.

She narrows her eyes then her hand rests on Needle’s hilt. She inherited the rebelliousness and the weapon of her ancestor Arya Stark it seems but not her face. Most people say she resembles her namesake a lot. The Queen Sansa. “Careful Lord Snow, you’re speaking to a Stark of Winterfell. Mind your tongue.” Jon stares at her. Her face is already clean of mud and blood and her auburn hair had been neatly combed. She is wearing a leather jerkin and black boots, a grey cloak is fastened with a direwolf brooch around her neck.

“We are not in Winterfell and the North,” Jon says, matching her glare. It is no secret that they despise each other. And the reason for that enmity is perhaps one so trivial and accidental. “Why are you here Lady Stark?” he asks.

“To lead of course.” She answers. “My brother is so inept and dull to leave this matter in his own hands. Besides, I am here to represent him.” She adds. Jon thinks that it is logical. The current King in the North is as incompetent as Valar Targaryen in his opinion. Lady Sansa is looking at him defiantly which reminds him that he was asking about another matter.

“What I meant to ask is why are you here in my tent?” He questions her. She is clearly taken aback and it takes her a few seconds to recover. “I… came to inform you that there’s been a war council called.” She finishes then turns to leave.

“You could’ve sent a messenger.” Jon murmurs as he watches her walk away. Her auburn hair swaying in the wind once more and it reminded him of another matter. _“The same color as the ones between her thighs.”_ He shakes his head at the thought. It was an accident that nearly cost him his life and ignited a conflict between Winterfell and Snowfall.

_He was young back then, only on the cusp of manhood when his mother took him to Bear Island for a visit. He was exploring the island when he chanced upon a girl bathing in one of the secret pools that Old Lyanna Mormont (granddaughter of another Lyanna Mormont who was said to be a very scary Lady) told him about. He swears that he thought she was mermaid gliding naked in crystal bluish water of the pool. Until he had the unfortunate luck of falling off the ledge where he was hiding. That fall alerted his presence to the fair maid. He is still groaning on his back because of a broken ankle when a knife is pressed to his throat. He stared up at angry blue eyes looking down at him and wet auburn hair framing his face._

_That was the only moment he experienced true fear despite the person holding him down was all in her naked glory._

_“You’re dead.” She whispered._


	2. Plans and Conspiracies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Northern army makes plans for their next move. A conspiracy is discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! thanks for the kudos and for reading. Thank you for the comments as well. Here's a short update for you guys.

The chatter of men and sound of horses filled the night air as Jon hobbles along with an injured leg from where an arrow struck him. He navigates through the rows of tents that are being set up.

“I saw Lady Sansa leaving your tent earlier,” Jeor tells him with a grin. “Did our prickly Lady stark manage to accuse you of any wrongdoing again or did she thank you instead for coming to her aid?”

“She did no such thing.” Jon answers. “A compliment was nice though,” he adds then stops for a while to inspect the ridges of their camp.

“Oh? A compliment?” Jeor asks in mock horror. “What did she say?”

“That I fought well today,” Jon replies with a shrug. “Come on, we’re late for the war council,” he adds and pulled his cousin along.

Seagard is a formidable castle with its high curtain walls and well-manned battlements. It s a relief that the ironborn failed to breach the walls and take over the castle before they arrived. If they did, Jon was not up for a seige.

* * *

 

A squire leads them to the main hall where the rest of the Northern Lords have gathered. Jason Mallister is the new Lord of Seagard as his father succumbed to his wounds look so uncomfortable sitting at the head of the table. Or maybe he just feels intimidated sitting across Sansa Stark.

“Good of you to finally join us, Lord Snow.” Aly Mormont greets him with a smile and waves her mace at him. “It is a wonder that Lady Sansa hasn’t killed you yet,” she adds with a wink.

Of course, most of the North know their story and enmity.

“The evening is still young and there’s still plenty of opportunities.” Lady Sansa deadpans.

Jon ignores the comment and takes a seat between Luke Norrey and Roger Ryswell.

“Seagard thanks you for the timely aid in the battle against the Ironborn my Lords and Ladies.” the young Lord of Seagard start. “we are forever in your debt. Although we lost a lot of men, my lord father among them - we are still lucky that we prevailed today.”

A chorus of agreement from around the table is heard.

“The North honored the pact of mutual defense.” Sansa states. Her proud voice echoes in the hall. “I am sure the South would’ve done the same if we are in need.”

 _“I doubt it.”_ Jon thinks but never voices his opinion. _"Plenty of times already that they didn't answer the call."_

“The enemy has withdrawn from the shores and looks to be sailing back to their island.” Ser Wil Manderly shares. "We rounded up some of the men left behind."

“I doubt that they will give up so soon.” Jon says. “From the looks of it, this attack has long been prepared.” he adds. “They brought some seige engines with them and the force we faced may only be a fraction of their army.”

“Lord Snow is right.” Sansa says - looking rather annoyed that she agrees with him. “We obtained valuable information from some of the prisoners that they are being funded by the Triarchy and promised that they will rule the Riverlands once the war is over.”

“That is a grievous news indeed.” Lord Mallister comments and some Lords nod their agreement as well.

“With the bulk of the Southern army occupied elsewhere, it falls to us to defend the west.” Sansa says. “That is not all, we just received a raven a while ago, Fairmarket has fallen.”

“How could this happen?” Lord Mallister asks in exasperation. “Where was Lord Blackwood’s army?” he wonders out loud.

“Probably fighting with the Brackens.” Luke Norrey says to the chagrin of the others present.

“Nonetheless, they managed to slip through to the Blue Fork and down to Fairmarket.” Sansa says.

“Then it appears we have no choice but to march down soon before they can fortify the town.” Lord Mallister says.

“I agree.” Jeor says. “We can take boats down the Blue Fork to hasten our advance.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” Aly Mormont says.

Sansa fiddles with her fingers as she ponders their next course of action. Being the Stark and representative of her brother, the final decision falls on her. “I will take the rest of our mounted forces.” she stands and points to the map.” And march down south while the rest of the infantry will take the boat and we will meet up a few leagues away from the town.”

“I think that would still take time.” Jon argues. “We have few boats that could sail down the river.” he adds.

“And what would you suggest Lord Snow?” Sansa stares at him pointedly.

Jon stands up and inspects the map. “Here.” he says and points to the map. “We cut off their possible route of retreat first,” he says and points to Wendish Town to the west of Fairmarket.

“So you’re saying that we let them be for the timebeing?” Sansa asks.

“No,” Jon says, rather defensively and loudly. “Take the cavalry and raid their supply lines, surely they are reinforcing their gains. If we intercept their supplies, they won’t be able to hold Fairmarket for long or any holdfasts they captured.” He explains. "At some point, they will need to march back to their longships but we will already be waiting for them."

“I see.” Sansa says. “And it might give our infantry some ample time to recuperate and look for boats that could ferry them down the river.” she adds.

“Also, the Riverlords nearby are surely mustering their own forces to repel these ironborn.” Jeor said wistfully.

“It is decided then?” Jon asks, staring at Sansa.

“I believe it is.” Sansa answers.

Lady Mormont claps her hands together. “Oh, look at you two working together.” she comments. “That’s good for a change.”

Sansa silences her with a glare. “I believe that is all for now my Lords.” she tells them. “I am sure all of us are tired from the battle.”

* * *

 

Slowly, the Northern Lords take their leave. Jon is on his way out when he hears, “Not you, Lord Snow.” Sansa calls after him.

Jeor raises his brows in amusement. “I shall go on ahead.” he tells Jon. “Try not to get killed.” he whispers before stepping out. The Wolves who heard his comment laughs.

“Lord Jason, can we have the room for a while?” Sansa aks the Lord of Seagard. Jon feels uneasy. He scans the room for any possible exits already. The window looks to be a viable one in his opinion.

As Lord Mallister takes his leave, the sound of a door shutting echoes off the walls of the hall. Then silence. Sansa walks over to a corner and pours herself a goblet of wine. Jon holds on Longclaw’s hilt just in case he is attacked.

You see, Sansa Stark is unpredictable and a deadly swordswoman. And the current generation of Starks is an uptight and crazy bunch. A man was nearly drawn and quartered just by accidentally burning a portion of the godswood in Winterfell.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I have had enough killing for today.” Sansa says as she takes a seat then gestures for Jon to do the same.

Jon takes the seat farthest away from her. Sansa smirks. “I don’t like that you’re here.” she states after taking a sip of wine.

Jon raises his brows. “I didn’t want to be here.” He answers. “But your brother called the banners and I answered.” He tells her in his thick northern accent. His nostrils almost flaring.

“It’s not that.” Sansa dismisses and shakes her head. “I heard talk that some Lords in the South are planning to rebel and replace King Valar.”

“So?” he asks which seem to annoy Sansa and looks at him like he's a fool.

“You are so dull sometimes.” Sansa says as she tucks her auburn hair behind her ear. “The King has no heir yet but there are other potential claimants to the throne. The strongest among them is his nephew Baelor who is only a babe and then yours.”

Jon is shocked to say the least as he opens his mouth, unable to form a sentence. “Me?” he manages.

“How daft can you be?” Sansa snipes. “Don’t you read about your lineage at all?” she asks, looking unimpressed and Jon can only glare at her in return.

“My ancestor renounced his claim on that damn throne and I do not want it as well.” Jon tells her. "I can barely manage Snowfall."

“That may be the case but do you think that matters to these Lords who are weary of Valar?” Sansa asks, standing now. “They may stage a rebellion in your name and you have no choice on the matter.” she adds, her arms crossing over her ample chest.

“Ugh. One war at a time.” Jon says. “We’re still dealing with this ironborn incursion and the Triarchy. Strictly speaking, we shouldn’t even be here participating.” he complains and runs his hand over his growing beard.

Sansa licks her lips. “Pacts have been made, and the North is honoring it,” She says. “As we have for decades.”

 _“Starks and their damn honor.”_ Jon thinks, unable to meet Sansa’s gaze.

“I just want you to be aware of what these Southern schemers are brewing.” Sansa says. “Now back to our current war...” she trails off then sits down once again. “I’m taking command of the cavalry.” she starts. “And I want you to lead the other half. The Ryswells and Dustins perhaps. The Manderly knights and the Winterfell cavalry will go with me. We will do as you suggest and cut off the enemy’s supply lines.”

“And who will lead the rest of the infantry?” Jon asks. “If we all march down, won’t that make Seagard vulnerable to attack again?”

“We’ll leave a contingent behind to help the Mallisters. I’ll have Lady Mormont and Lord Glover lead the infantry. Do you have any objections?” she asks.

Jon is quite impressed with her plan. Mormont is a great leader and Glover is a cautious man. “It seems you’ve already thought this through.”

“No. I just thought of it just now.” she answers with a smirk. Her cheeks are already reddening because of the wine. Jon think that she looks like a tomato.

Jon nods his head. “Is there anything else?” he asks.

“No.” Sansa answers. “Just be ready to move out in a forthnight,” she tells him and stands up.

Jon stands as well and follows her out of the hall. Wilbert Manderly and Duncan Dustin, her personal guards trail after them as they exit the hall.

The walk outside the castle is spent in silence and they stop just outside the gate where a drawbridge spans over a ditch.

“Thank you by the way.” Sansa says, tucking loose strands of her away.

“For what?” Jon asks.

Sansa smiles. Or maybe it is a smirk. Jon can’t tell. “For saving my life today.” she tells him.

Jon continues walking. “I was just doing my job and it only happens that you were there.” he says with his own smirk. Sansa glares at him as he continues on his way. He does not notice a protruding wood in the drawbridge and trips on it, sending him toppling down the ditch.

That event actually make Sansa Stark laugh - a high pitch sound of merriment. “Serves you right.” Sansa tells him as Jon curses as he lay in the ditch. Sansa peers down from the edge of the drawbridge, unaware that where she is standing is actually unstable. She hears a crack at first then something breaks. The plank where she is standing give way and she also falls down - landing on top of Lord Snow.

“Serves you right.” Jon tells her after extricating his face from her bossom. He is ‘unlucky’ enough that her chest landed on his face.

Now it is Sansa’s turn to curse. “Fucking hell!” she shouts. “Burn that accursed drawbridge!” her outburst continues.

“Jon, fancy seeing both of you down there.” Jeor’s face peeks above the ditch. His amusement is clearly evident.

“Not a word.” Jon says and reaches for Jeor’s offered hand. The Wolves help their princess up as well as she continues to curse.

“I received word from Snowfall.” Jeor says and hands Jon a parchment. “Aemon asks if you’re dead yet.” Jeor says.

“Unlucky for him, I’m still breathing.” Jon mumbles as he dusts himself of dirt.

“The message also says that a Slaver’s ship was spotted near Skagos.” Jeor adds.

Jon scrunches his brows. “They are getting bold.” he says.

“So, on another note, how did you end up on a ditch with the Lady Sansa on top of you?” Jeor asks suggestively.

“Shut up.” Jon answers while Sansa continues to curse.


	3. Knocking on Death's Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's impulsiveness leads them to a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Here's another quick update for you guys :) Thanks for reading and the comments.

The march South is relatively peaceful with outriders screening their way. They encountered some fragments of marauding ironborn but they were far too few and were quickly dealt with. On the fourth day, they reached the outskirts of Wendish Town. spies inform them that there are only less than a hundred enemy soldiers entrenched in the town but warn them that more are on the way.

“I think we should attack now while we have the element of surprise,” Jon says as he pulls up his horse beside Sansa who looks splendid wearing her full battle gear. The direwolf intricately crafted on her breastplate with weirwoods designed onto her pauldrons and greaves, her grey cape draped over her fine white destrier. She removes her wolf helmet and shakes her head - her hair cascading in the wind and beads of sweat glistening on her freckled face.

Jon gulps. He does not deny that he finds her attractive but that’s how far his admiration goes.

“I think we should wait for the cover of darkness,” Sansa says, tucking her helmet at her side.

“That’s a viable option too.” Jon agrees then Sansa glances at him. “What are you looking at?” she suddenly asks, looking annoyed as always. Jon realizes that he’s still staring at her face.

“It’s high noon. Aren’t you boiling inside your armor?” He asks with raised brows. He’s wearing boiled leather on top of his tunic and even that, he feels the heat. How much more, being encased in silver steel?

“No.” Sansa answers. “Why? you just want to see some skin, do you?” she adds, looking coldly at him and scoffs.

Jon pauses. _“Is she flirting?”_ he wonders. But no, Sansa Stark does not flirt. She threatens.

 _“Stuck up bitch.”_ Jon thinks as he returns an equally cold stare. “I’m not that interested.” He tells her then wheels his horse around. “And I’ve already seen everything there is to see,” he adds and then realizes that it was not a good move at all.

Sansa actually looks rather offended and draws her sword. Her face is all red and she is breathing heavily. “You insolent bastard,” she hisses then dismounts her horse. “Come and face me then. You need some proper gelding.”

He is a Snow but he certainly is not a bastard. Jon is the Lord of Snowfall after all and being called a bastard is a sore thing for his family. He dismounts as well and faces Sansa.

“Do you think we’ll survive this war if this lot is leading us?” One horseman asks his companion as they tether their horses to a tree nearby.

Roger Ryswell steps in between the feud. He is older than the other two and tries to talk some sense to them. Jon mounts his horse again then rides off far away from Sansa as possible.

In hindsight, Sansa had seen his everything too. How could she not when she had forced him to walk naked back to the Mormont Castle after their encounter in the hidden pools?

* * *

  
Night has fallen and it is dark enough to hide their approach to the town. The outriders had done their job in keeping the cavalry’s presence a secret. Their forces split in two. Sansa positions her men north of the town while Jon fans out to the west.

The hour of the wolf comes and amidst the blowing of horns, the cavalry charges, horsemen shouting, “Winterfell!” “For the North!” their cries echoing in the night. They took the town in less than an hour with only three casualties. Eighty ironborn lay dead as the morning comes. But the day also brought the horrible sight of smallfolk that the invaders butchered.

“Savages.” Jon laments as he passes by a dead woman clutching her child in her arms, both had been put to the sword.

“Some of them are sellswords.” Roger Ryswell pulls up beside him and points to a dead man who clearly doesn’t look like an ironborn with his forked blue beard and foreign clothing.

“I do not like this,” Jon says. “We should never have involved ourselves in the troubles of the South,” he adds but then urges his horse forward to the center of the town where some of the surviving smallfolk have gathered.

“They say a large force of Ironborn passed this way yesterday,” Jeor tells him as he stops at his side.

“Gather up your men, Lord Snow.” Sansa orders as she approaches them in her horse. She has a brazen look on her face and she is gritting her teeth.

“What are you planning?” Jon asks, looking perplexed.

“I have only one plan,” Sansa says. “Attack,” she adds. “If we ride now, we’ll catch up with them.”

“Are you crazy?” Jon looks at her defiantly. “We couldn’t just rush after them without a good plan.”

“I am weary of you being cautious, Lord Snow.” Sansa jibes. “The more we wait, the more they are reinforcing Fairmarket. You have your orders.” she finishes then rides off.

Now it is Jon’s turn to grit his teeth but follows her all the same.

* * *

 

As it turns out, his caution is warranted. Just a few miles from the town, they fall into an ambush.

The enemy has taken the high ground and is concealed by the thick bushes on either side of a narrow pass. The outriders quickly fall to the hail of arrows and crossbow bolts as axe-wielding warriors swarm them on either side. The battle quickly devolves in hand-to-hand fighting as they have a hard time maneuvering their horses.

Jon jumps off his horse and cuts through an enemy soldier. Longclaw glistens with blood as he swings again to cut a spear in half and then an arm. An arrow grazes his shoulder then hits one of the Ryswell men.

Jon sidesteps an ironborn then hacks off the man in half. At the head of the column he sees Sansa fighting with three men, her back is protected by the Wolves. One enemy quickly falls to her sword. She dispatches the next one as she manages to slit his throat. Then she is facing a hulking man and she is definitely outmatched. Jon scrambles to get to her. He deflects a sword and the weapon breaks at it strike Longclaw. He kicks the man in the groin and continues on his way. A spear nearly runs through him but he dodges just in time.

Meanwhile, Sansa is having a hard time with the bulky warrior. She is nimble at her feet but The soldier’s brute strength can easily crush her. She deflects a mace but the impact sends her shield flying. The man swings his mace again and she narrowly avoids getting hit in the face.

Jon sees that her back is exposed and an ironborn is running for her. With all his might, he throws Longclaw at the charging enemy, it catches the man on his back - killing him just before he can reach Sansa. Now, Jon picks up a spear and stabs another soldier. Sansa jumps back just in time as the brute swats her sword away.

“Stark!” Jon shouts as Sansa tumbles. He throws the spear at her and with such agility, she catches the weapon in the nick of time and plunges it at the hulking Ironborn.

Sansa turns to him with a smile. “Thanks,” she yells. However, her triumph is short-lived as a crossbow bolt hits her on the shoulder.

“Sansa!” Jon screams and runs to her just in time to catch her fall. Her two Wolves form a protective ring around them. Sansa is breathing deeply as Jon cradles her beside the fallen Stark banner.

The battle continues to rage around them. The two loyal Wolves are trying their best to cover them from projectiles while cutting anyone who ventures near. Maderly has an arrow sticking on his leg but is still standing his ground.

“You’ll be fine,” Jon says through trembling voice. “You’re too stubborn to die from this,” he reassures himself more than her.

“That’s funny.” Sansa croaks in a weakening voice. The bolt pierced her left shoulder, thankfully missing her heart but she’s still bleeding a lot.

Jon notices the enemy slowly withdrawing and he cranes his neck to check what is happening. Some horsemen had apparently managed to get to the high-ground and are beginning to drive the enemy back.

“Get me a horse!” Jon commands as he continues to cradle Sansa. If she dies on his watch, he’ll never hear the end of it from the king and his conscience won’t let him rest. Surely they don’t get along but he’s still sworn to House Stark.

A while later a Manderly knight brings him a mount. He manages to get Sansa unto the horse then climbs and settle behind her.

“I found this,” Jeor says as he rides to him. He hands Longclaw to Jon. “Thanks,” Jon says with a grateful smile. “Tell Lord Ryswell to take command, gather the remaining men and fall back to Wendish.”

“He’s dead,” Jeor tells him with a shake of his head.

“Then, you’re in command,” Jon says. “I need to get our Lady Stark to a maester.” he adds and pulls the weakening Sansa against him. Jeor nods.

Jon gallops away, the Wolves following behind him. “Stay with me Stark.” Jon murmurs at Sansa’s ear. Her face is going pale.


	4. Perhaps in a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Northern cavalry retreats to save their princess. Jon finds help from a crone and Sansa talks in her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Here's another short update for you guys. Thanks for reading once again and comments are very much appreciated. I hope to update soon XD.

Wendish Town doesn’t have a maester so the closest that Jon has is an elderly woman who claims to be a healer but some of the villagers say she is a woods-witch. Jon stares at the crone with doubt and has a mind to look for a proper maester but by the time he gets hold of one, his liege lady would probably be dead by then. With reluctance she let the old woman see to Sansa.

He has ridden back to town with such haste and dread when Sansa became unconscious.

“Take off her armor.” the healer instructs him and Jon stares at her apprehensively.

“I, uh...” he begins to protest but then realizes that he’s being ridiculous. Sansa’s life is more important than his bloody honor.

“Make haste! I have to clean her wound.” the woman chastises and Jon immediately bends his knee and fumbles with her armor. The healer is currently mixing a greenish paste that Jon has no idea about. He takes off her gauntlets, then her greaves. Then with great difficulty, he loosens the leather binds on her breastplate in either side.

He couldn’t remove the armor entirely because the crossbow bolt is still stuck on her shoulder.

The old lady sits next to him. “You need to remove the bolt then I’ll apply this paste after you remove the breastplate.”

Jon nods and grips the protruding bolt. Thank the old gods that Sansa is still unconscious or he would earn a proper whacking if she so much feels any pain. Jon pulls the bolt out and immediately, a stream of blood bursts from the wound. He immediately unclasps the binds of the body armor and took off her breastplate. His nose picks up the nauseating scent of her blood as it soaks her tunic.

“Tear her tunic.” the healer instructs and Jon obliges with some trepidation. He gulps as her bloody milk white skin is exposed. Sansa’s freckled shoulder is drenched in her own blood which the old lady immediately washes away then she applies her paste.

“Here, make yourself useful.” The healer tosses a washcloth at him. He immediately wipes his sweat with it which prompts the old lady to glance at him oddly. “What are you doing?” she questions. “That’s for you to wash the dirt from her face with, not your sweat,” she tells him as she continues to apply the paste on Sansa’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Jon squeaks, feeling stupid all of a sudden. He washes the cloth in a nearby bucket of water then returns to Sansa’s side. He tucks away her hair from her face first then starts wiping the blood and dirt. When the grime is finally off, he notices a small cut on her cheek. She has a peaceful face on. Jon glances at her chest just make sure she’s still breathing or so he tells himself - his eyes did not linger for a few more seconds than necessary, he swears.

“She’s lucky that her wound is not that deep.” the healer murmurs. The blood-flow has substantially stopped. I just need to patch it up.” she adds then stands up. “Stay here while I get some clean cloth.”

Jon nods then he watches the woman hobble out of the room. They are currently in one of the biggest abandoned house in the town. He neatly stacks Sansa’s armor nearby then reaches for the cloth once again to clean her arms. Her palms, he notices are caloused from years of wielding a sword but he also notes that there’s something delicate about them. His eyes find her once again and her paleness is starting to dissipate.

 _“You look rather pretty when you’re not scowling,”_ he thinks then realizes that the thought came from out of nowhere.

“My Lord,” someone barges in to Jon’s surprise. He sees Duncan Dustin with a worried look on his face. “How is the Lady Sansa?” he inquires.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jon answers as he spares a glance at the redhead. “She’s still alive so that’s comforting,” he adds.

The loyal guard nods his head with a sigh of relief. “Some of the men are also returning, Lord Snow.” he tells him.

“I shall be out in a while,” Jon says. “How is Manderly?”

“He’s being tended to my lord,” Duncan answers. “It’s just an arrow wound,” he adds.

The healer comes hobbling back into the room with a stack of clean linens that she probably ransacked from one of the house’s rooms.

“Please keep watch over Lady Stark,” Jon tells Duncan as he tosses the washcloth into the bucket then stands up.

 

* * *

  
He waits for Jeor to arrive but for the meantime, he makes his rounds to the men. He instructs some of them to take up defensive positions and station watchmen on every approaches to the town.

Jeor arrives with the rest of their forces. Some were carrying the wounded, and others... the dead.

“Our losses are not that grievous, except for the outriders.” Jeor tells him. “Most of them didn’t make it out.”

Jon nods grimly.

“How’s Lady Sansa?” Jeor asks.

“She’s unconscious but alive,” Jon answers. “A healer is tending to her as we speak.”

“I hope she survives,” Jeor says. “Or we’ll never hear the end of it from King Benjen.”

“Yes,” Jon agrees. “Have the men rested and set up camp outside the town,” he instructs. “I will not have the villagers thinking that we are taking over like the ironborn. Looks like we’re staying here for a while.

His cousin smirks. “Yes, my lord,” he mocks and Jon smiles back at him.

* * *

 

Later in the night, he finally feels all the weariness of the day. He is about to collapse that after taking supper with his men and checking Lady Sansa’s condition, he immediately falls asleep as soon as his head hits the bed of the adjoining room.

He dreams he is back in Snowfall, hosting a feast. He is listening as Lyn sing’s a bawdy song she learned from the spear-wives while Aemon is whispering with maester Lann in the corner and Jeor is flirting with one of the kitchen wenches. He stands up and his footsteps take him back to his own chambers. There, he sees a woman with her back to him, cooing over a baby in a bassinet beside his bed.

When he is about to approach, someone interrupts his dream.

Jon wakes to the sight of Jeor’s alarmed face shaking him. “What?” he asks as he bolts upright. “Are we under attack?”

“No,” Jeor answers. “But you’ll be,” Jeor says. “She’s asking for you.”

Jon rubs the sleep from his eyes then stands up, dragging his tired body to the next room where Lady Sansa is in. He approaches her cot warily then discovers that her eyes are still closed. She is breathing more evenly now but she is clearly still asleep - the candlelight illuminating her cheeks and making her skin glow. The healer had done a perfectly fine job of patching her up. Currently, she’s covered in a thick blue blanket.

“She’s asleep.” Jon turns to his cousin and feels the itch to punch him if he is just playing a prank on him.

“Uh no,” Jeor says. “She was calling out your name earlier,” he explains. Jon looks to Ser Duncan and the sworn sword nods his head in agreement with Jeor.

“Well, she’s bloody asleep now,” Jon says and settles on a chair nearby.

“Well, whatever,” Jeor says. “Mormont has written that they have sufficient boats to ferry the men downstream.”

“That’s good to hear.” Jon agrees. “We can’t stay here longer than we should anyway,” he adds. “We’ll plan our next move tomorrow.”

Then I shall take my rest then,” Jeor waves at him then go back to the adjoining room, taking Jon’s bed.

Jon sighs and tries to close his eyes, hoping to sleep once more and maybe have a continuation of the dream he had earlier.

“Snow,” he hears the voice and immediately he opens his eyes. “Snow,” Sansa mumbles - her mouth barely opening. “Hot...” she trails off then slightly shifts.

Jon raises a brow. “Warm...” Sansa whimpers. He realizes she’s sleep-talking.

“Fuck,” she curses which surprises Jon. He turns to Ser Duncan who is still dutifully standing guard by the door. He had an equally confused look.

“Ummm...” Sansa continues to mumble. “Oh...” she trails off - her pale pink lips perfectly forming an _O_. “Snow,” Sansa says again. Jon scratches his neck. “There,” she continues.

Jon stands up with a mind to call for the healer to check if Lady Sansa is okay. “Jon Snow” he hears his name escape her lips almost like a whisper and he abruptly turns to look at her. Eyes still closed. Even breathing. A slight smirk on her lips and brows slightly furrowed.

From the corner of his eye, he notices Ser Duncan trying to hold his laughter so Jon turns to him questioningly.

“Uh...” The knight scratches his beard. “I heard she does that sometimes,” is all he says.


	5. Like an Old Married Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their forces continue to grow. Jon takes in some orphans. Sansa sews - sort of.

Jon wakes up with aching joints, his whole body rigid from his awkward position, sleeping on a chair. The first thing he notices is the absence of his liege lady. He spares a glance in the corner and sees Ser Duncan asleep.

It is still early when he steps out into the backyard of the house and he suddenly feels the urge to piss. He sees a thick oak tree nearby and promptly walks over to it then unlaces his breeches and proceeds to empty his bladder.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen little Snow.” Someone suddenly says which pretty much surprises Jon that he nearly soils his own breeches as he turns away. Then he notices Sansa at the other side of the tree with reddened cheeks while she looks away.

“You know, it’s rude to interrupt a man, mid-flow,” Jon says trying to salvage the embarrassment.

“I was here first,” Sansa replies then stands up, still not looking his way. “I guess I owe you my life once more,” she adds then leans against the trunk. “Of all the knights and soldiers there, why does it have to be you?” she grunts. “I don’t like it one bit.”

“We’ll talk about that in a while, but for now, do you mind stepping away as I do my business here?” he asks, feeling like a fool then questions himself why he always ends up with weird situations.

Sansa keeps quiet but she does not leave until Jon finishes his well-earned piss. He laces back his breeches after a while then he walks over to the other side of the tree. He sees Lady Sansa still leaning there with a bandaged shoulder. The color has already returned to her cheeks, her hair still in a bit of disarray.

“Well, look what your recklessness brought us.” Jon starts. “Do you want to reap all the glory in the battle that you’ll willingly throw your life without thought?” he asks.

Sansa looks guilty but then her stubbornness kicks in. “I do not need anyone’s permission to do what I want,” she retaliates.

“Except what you want also endangered a lot of lives this time,” Jon answers. “And we almost lost you too,” he adds.

“Oh, I’m flattered for your concern Lord Snow,” Sansa tells him with a smirk. “It’s as if you really care about me.”

“I am being serious here, Lady Stark,” Jon says with annoyance. “The next time you charge recklessly into battle, I may not be there to save you.”

Sansa stares at him incredulously. “Oh, ho, ho, as if I need a knight in shining armor to rescue me.”

“From the way, you’re acting like a petulant child, maybe you do,” Jon jibes at her.

“How dare you call me petulant...” Sansa starts but Jon ignores her. “I don’t really want to argue with an injured lady right now, it’s not an honorable thing to do,” he adds as he raises a brow at her.

“As if you have any bloody honor, to begin with,” Sansa comments with a grunt.

See? they couldn’t even have a decent conversation without it devolving into an argument.

“We lost a lot of men, and that’s on you,” Jon says and immediately regrets it upon seeing Sansa’s guilty face. That was uncalled for despite it’s true. “I’m sorry...” he trails off but Sansa remains quiet and looks away, biting her lower lip.

“Have you eaten yet?” Jon asks, hoping to change the subject to a more neutral one. They couldn’t possibly have another disagreement concerning food but hey, it’s the two of them so who knows...

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Sansa tells him flatly, still not meeting his gaze.

“Come on,” Jon invites. “You need to eat something so you can regain your strength,” he tells her and offers his hand.

“I’m not touching that hand,” Sansa tells him and storms off back into the house.

Jon sighs and follows her.

  
“You know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say that you two fight like an old married couple,” Jeor tells him as he passes on his way inside.

“Stop that,” Jon tells his cousin as Sansa whips her head to glare at him once more.

“Married,” Jeor whispers with a grin then pats his back.

* * *

 

  
“We received a raven from Seagard, last night,” Jon says over a bowl of mutton and a slice of bread. They are sitting around the large table in the kitchen of the house that they decided to make their headquarters while the rest of their men are camped outside of the town. “It might take them two to three days to sail down the Blue Fork. So, I think in the meantime we’ll take the opportunity to rest the men and let the wounded recuperate,” he adds then looks at Sansa for the last bit.

“So you’re taking command now?” Jeor asks him then turns to Lady Sansa to see her reaction.

Sansa has her stoic face on as she continues to eat her bowl of mutton with her good hand. “Until I’m well, you’ll follow Lord Snow’s command,” she says.

“I think that would be for the better,” Jon jests to lighten the mood but Lady Stark doesn’t appreciate his humor.

“You’re so full of yourself, aren't you?” Sansa pushes her bowl away then throws her spoon. “And would you stop that already?” She stands up and questions Jon. “I know, I made a mistake, don’t rub it in my face,” she says then leaves them with heavy footsteps as if to let them know how angry she is. The table falls silent.

For the rest of the morning, they tried their best to avoid each other.

* * *

 

That afternoon, Jon finishes doing his rounds with their men and checking their defenses. He is riding through the town when he passes by a group of children, the smallest of them is maybe around three summers old.

“M’lord, do you have any food to spare?” the oldest of them, maybe around ten has his hands outstretched in the middle of the road to block his path. “Please M'lord, my brothers and sisters are starving.”

“Where are your parents?” Jon asks the boy as he reins in his horse.

“They’re dead,” The boy answers. “The ironborn killed them,” he adds with teary eyes. The youngest child begins crying.

Jon reaches inside his saddle bag and fishes out some dried venison slices. “Here, take this,” Jon says and offers the food to the boy.

The boy stares up at him with such gratefulness in his eyes. “Thank you, M'lord,” the boy says then gives the venison to his siblings, only taking a small piece for himself.

Jon dismounts from his horse. “What’s your name?” Jon asks.

“I’m Jon,” The boy answers. “And these are my brothers Ed and Ben and my sister, Aster.” he introduces his siblings.

“My name is Jon too.” He tells the boy.

“Oh, really?” the boys ask him. “My mother told me that I was named after a great hero.” Jon, the boy tells him.

“Me too.” Jon answers with a smile then pat the boy’s head. “You know, you can’t just go on and beg for food every day,” he says.

“I know,” Jon the boy answers. “But the ironborn had taken everything from our house.”

“Do you know how to hunt or fish?” Jon asks the boys and all three of them shakes their heads. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you then,” he says. “For the meantime, you can stay over at that big house over there,” he adds and points to the house that they are currently staying in.

The children thanks him gratefully until the little girl hugs his leg tightly like she is hiding from someone.

Jon turns around and sees Lady Sansa atop her horse, wearing grey tunic beneath her cloak. She stops when she notices Jon with the kids.

“It’s the Ice Queen,” Little Aster says and starts crying. This prompts Jon to carry her. “Ssshhh... Ice Queen?” he asks then looks at Lady Sansa with raised brows. “Don’t worry, she’s not that bad,” he says. “Actually, she’s a princess.”

“Mother told us that if we’re not good, the Ice Queen is going to get us,” Ben says.

Aster continues to sniffle in his arms. Sansa rummages through her saddle bag. She fishes out an apple. “Here, you can have this,” she tells the little girl in Jon’s arms. Aster reaches for it tentatively, her unblinking eyes, not leaving Sansa’s.

Jon sets the little girl down then turns to Lady Sansa again. “Shouldn’t you be resting and not aggravating your wound?” Jon asks her. Sansa looks like she wants to say something but then thinks better of it and instead nods her head.

“Now get to the house and tell them I sent you,” Jon tells the children and then they happily follow his orders after giving him an embrace. Sansa dismounts while the children go on their way.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Jon tells Lady Sansa as they walk for the rest of the way back to the big house.

“It’s okay, It was my fault,” she says with a softness in her voice that Jon never heard before.

“You talk in your sleep,” Jon says all of a sudden to change the subject.

Sansa visibly tenses then looks back at him - her blue eyes, apprehensive. “What did I say?” she asks quietly, almost embarrassed perhaps.

“Many things,” Jon answers as they continue their slow strides like they are just walking along some garden. He abruptly stops and turns to her. “Then there’s some moaning. A lot of them,” he adds.

Sansa’s face turns red, close to the color of her hair. She grits her teeth when Jon quips, “You were calling out my name a few times too.”

Thankfully the opportune arrival of a messenger saves Sansa from her embarrassment.

“Lord Snow, Lady Stark,” the rider greets. “Scouts report that there’s a band of ironborn trying to slip through our lines due north of here. They count fifty men.”

Jon nods and thanks the messenger then turns to his liege lady. “I need to take care of this,” he says. “Stay here and don’t do anything stupid,” he adds with a grin.

Lady Sansa looks like she wants to protest but then all she says is, “Be safe.” Then suddenly she realizes that was out of her character. “Or whatever, I don’t care,” she amends when Jon glances at her oddly. “Anyway, you best get going,” she adds before continuing on her way to the house.

“My Lady,” Jon says with a nod then rides off the other direction.

* * *

 

Jon takes a hundred riders and they chance upon the enemy marching in haste. Their presence is such a surprise that they catch the ironborn off guard. They ride over most of them down and they quickly annihilate the marauders with the cost of three dead and a few wounded.

It is already dark by the time Jon and his men returns. Jeor greets him with the news that some of the Blackwood and Tully men and other hedge knights and mercenaries have arrived while he was gone, bolstering their forces in preparation for the attack in Fairmarket.

With all the newly arrived men camped already, he rides back to their headquarters. He finds Lady Sansa in the receiving room where a hearth is burning low. She is sitting on a long bench and is combing Aster’s hair. “How did it go?” she asks when she sees him.

“Alright,” Jon answers. “We rode right through them,” he adds in a weary voice and takes a seat on a chair opposite her. He sees that Aster had fallen asleep. Lady Sansa notices him staring but says nothing. Instead, she carefully stands up, mindful not to disturb the girl in her lap. She lights a candle to brighten up the room then stares pointedly at Jon.

“Take off your cloak,” she instructs which causes Jon to stare at her in bewilderment.

“What? Why?” he stutters.

“There’s a tear in it. I have nothing else to do and I’m bored. Might as well mend it,” Sansa says. “What were you thinking?”

“Uh, nothing,” Jon answers with a lie for in truth there’s a lot of scenario running through his mind and a number of them were certainly unspeakable to a lady. “I didn’t know you can sew,” he settles.

Lady Sansa looks at him. Her look of being annoyed. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she says as she accepts his cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading this. Comments are very much appreciated :)


	6. Battle of Fairmarket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Northerners and Rivermen finally launches their attack on Fairmarket

In the distance, Jon sees men unloading from the boats on the shores of the Blue Fork as they march their cavalry North of Fairmarket. Their advance was carefully screened by outriders to prevent any more surprise attacks.

“Jeor, take the men and ride on ahead. Tell them to set up camp,” Lady Sansa commands as she pulls up beside Jon and his cousin - her remaining two personal guards flank them on either side.

“As you wish Lady Stark,” Jeor answers with a nod then gallops forward.

Jon stares at her atop her white destrier, clad in her armor once again with the exception of her helmet. Jon clears his throat. “As I’ve told you before, leave the fighting to us, you need to recuperate.”

“And as I told you, I have no intention of sitting this one out,” Sansa answers with a glare. “And why are we discussing this again in the first place? I’m your liege lady and you're sworn to House Stark, my decision is final,” she adds as she looks at him in defiance.

Jon smirks at her. “Very well then, try not to die this time,” he says and urges his horse forward. “It would be disappointing,” he calls over his shoulder before he gallops away, leaving the Northern Princess with her guards.

After a moment of pondering his remark, Sansa follows after him.

* * *

  
While the men are still pitching their tents, Sansa calls for a council - more like an inspection of the situation.

“Where is Lord Snow?” Sansa asks as Alys Mormont and Ethan Glover joins her outside the camp - two guards are trailing each of them.

Aly Mormont raises a brow. “Oh, you’ve been with him for far too long in Wendish and now that he’s gone for a moment, you look worried, Lady Stark.”

Sansa is fond of Aly Mormont and she is a close friend that she let slides most of her comments but sometimes, she also has the urge to strangle the girl. “Keep your mouth shut Aly. I am not in the mood for jests.” Sansa says with a serious face and the heir to Bear Island merely shrugs her shoulders. “In any case, come with me,” Sansa orders.

They ride towards a small ridge with their guards trailing behind them. As they finally reached the top, they can see Fairmarket on the other side. The town had been witness to hundreds of battles throughout its existence and by far, it has become the largest town in the Riverlands and became the center of trade. Its defenses are formidable too with a wall covering much of it. As to why it has fallen quickly to the Ironborn, Sansa can only speculate.

“There lies our objective,” Sansa says as she sweeps her sight at the view of Fairmarket. “The sooner we drive the Ironborn out, the closer we are at ending this war,” she adds.

“We can take a portion of the men and deploy on the other side of the town,” Lord Glover suggests. “If we hit them from all sides, it will be over before the day is done.”

“But won’t that delay our attack if we ferry some of the men on the other side of the river?” Aly asks.

“Then I suggest we do it right away,” Lord Glover answers.

 

Their attention is turned to Jon as he rides up to them alone. “Lord Snow, it is nice to see you in one piece.” Alys greets when he arrives.

“Lord Jon,” Lord Glover chimes in then nods at him.

“Our Lady Stark was wondering where you’ve been.” Aly quips.

“I’ve been doing rounds among the men.” Jon answers. “And I received a raven from Edd Tully, the Rivermen are on their way.”

“That’s good to hear,” Sansa says without taking her eyes off of the town in the distance.

“So, what did I miss?” Jon asks as he dismounts then stares at the town too.

“Lord Glover suggests that we deploy some of the men on the other side of the town,” Sansa says without looking at him. “What do you think Lord Snow?”

 _“You’re asking for my approval? That’s new.”_ Jon thinks as he blinks up at her stoic face. “I think it’s a sound plan,” he agrees.

“Very well then, have the boats ferry men to the other side of the river, Lord Glover but wait for the cover of darkness. You will lead the attack from the east, wait for my signal,” Sansa commands.

“Yes my Lady,” Lord Glover answers. “It would be my honor to lead the men,” he adds.

“What concerns me is the walls,” Sansa says as she dismounts too. Her cape billows in the strong wind.

Jon assesses the walls. “It looks formidable if manned properly,” he tells them. “But we have prevented them from reinforcing the town,” he adds. He notices Lady Sansa wincing as she moves her shoulder. “How’s your shoulder?” he asks out of curiosity and not for concern (or so he tells himself).

“It’s fine so stop asking,” Sansa says, trying to sound annoyed but her cheeks are reddening, maybe from the chill in the air and not for some other reason. “We need to take the gates first. Once that is done, our cavalry can ride through the town.”

“We need to scale the walls in order to do that. I’ll have the men make ladders,” Jon says. He notices Mormont smiling atop her horse as she stares at them. When their gazes meet, she grins at him and nods toward Lady Sansa suggestively. That’s Jon’s cue to look away. “I’ll take my men, the Ryswells, and the Dustins to lead the attack.”

Sansa doesn’t object and merely nods. “I’ll lead the cavalry once the gates are opened. And no objections on that matter,” she says and looks pointedly at Jon but soon discover she can’t quite hold his gaze so she turns around to mount her horse. She pulls on the reins then starts riding back to the encampment.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Jon finds himself atop his destrier, his men are arrayed behind him. The northern sigils displayed along the line. Almost all northern houses have sent contingents of men for the war. Cerwyns, Ryswells, Dustins, Tallharts, Mormonts, Mazins and even some of the mountain clans are standing shoulder-to-shoulder as they prepare to attack the walls of Fairmarket. Jon scans the battlements and sees that there’s a substantial amount of defenders along the walls. And Jon knew that these Ironborn are ferocious warriors on land as they are on the sea.

To their South, some of the Riverlords and their levies and hedge knights are also preparing for the assault.

On the other side of the town, Lord Glover will be leading the attack with his men, together with the Hornwoods, Umbers and the Karstarks.

Jeor rides up beside him, holding their own standard - a six-pointed snowflake on a field of pitch-black. He looks at his cousin then nods.

“Forward!” Jon commands and he urges his mount into a trot. The loud and mournful sound of horns starts blowing. The whole line of men ripples as they march forward.

He glances back at the crest of the hill and sees Lady Sansa - her auburn hair blowing in the wind as she sits on her horse, flanked by her guards. A squire is holding the royal standard - a crowned direwolf running on a field of grey. The Manderly knights and Winterfell cavalry and the rest of the Mormont warriors forming a line behind them. He nods his head and when she raises her hand and waves, he smiles. “For the North!” he shouts and the call is picked up by his men. “Winterfell! For the North!”

“Snowfall!” Jeor shouts and they both gallop ahead to the hail of arrows. The Rivermen also begins their assault. The thundering war horns of the Umbers emanates from the other side of the town.

“Archers!” Jon commands and the Tallhart longbowmen take up their positions and begin firing on the walls while the rest of the soldiers were running for the wall, some of them carrying scaling ladders.

The enemy archers are also raining arrows on them and some are throwing axes and stones. Jon rides along the line, urging the men on.

 

Back on the crest of the hill, Lady Sansa watches as the battle unfolds below. She can almost feel the restlessness of the rest of the men. The horses neighing in agitation. She winces as she feels the pain on her shoulder again as she moves her arm.

Her heart is thundering against her chest. “Don’t die,” she murmurs then takes a deep breath as Lady Mmormont twirls her mace just beside her. She can sense the anxiety of the other girl.

Then in the southeast of the town, Sansa spies some horsemen riding towards the town. “Damn it!” she curses. “Ser Wilbert, take the Manderly knights and intercept those riders reinforcing from the southeast,” Sansa orders one of her guards.

“But Your Grace, I should be protecting you,” the Wolf tries to remind her but that only annoys Sansa. “I can defend myself, and that is an order,” she hisses. The knight bows his head then rides off.

Sansa turns his attention back to the battle as the Manderly men detach from their line and follow Ser Wilbert.

 

Beneath the walls of Fairmarket, the northerners are already scaling the walls but their casulaties are already mounting. Jon reaches one of the ladders just in time as the man who is climbing it is hit with an ax and falls down, almost landing on top of him. He avoids in time and then a stone is thrown from the walls and crushes the skull of a Cerwyn soldier beside him. Along the walls, bodies are falling, Ironborn and Northerner alike.

Jon sheats Longclaw and starts climbing a ladder. An ironborn is about to topple the ladder but is hit with an arrow on the neck. Jon continues his climb and when he finally jumps into the battlements, he pulls out Longclaw and starts cutting any Ironborn he comes across. Some of his men also makes it on the walls and fierce melee ensues and all sorts of projectiles flying in the air around them. He stops for a moment and sees that part of the cavalry is riding out. He has no time to think about what is happening so he continues his way towards the top of the gate, hewing any enemy along the way. His heart is heaving as he feels the heat of the battle. an axe sails in front of him, almost cutting his face. An ironborn throws a spear and Jon deflects it aside and rushes at the man, plunging Longclaw in his gut.

At last Jon reaches the top of the gates and almost all the defenders are dead or dying. He sees a Greyjoy standard flying on the walls and immediately cuts it. Some of his men are also running to his position. Together they run down the stairs that leads to the gate below. A mass of Ironborn is waiting for them. One northman gets skewered by a poleaxe as he charges blindly into the fray. Jon cuts his way through as he slashes Longclaw around. Iron and regular steel are no match for a Valyrian sword.

 

  
“Prepare to charge!” Sansa commands then puts on her wolf helmet as she feels that it’s only a matter of time before the gate is taken. She sees the unmistakable figure on Lord Snow atop the gates before he disappears with some soldiers on the other side.

“Hold the line!” Aly barks out an order. “Follow the royal banner down the center!” she continues.

“For the North!” Sansa shouts as she raises her sword. “Winterfell! Stark! Stark!” the men sings. Ser Duncan blows his horn. The sound almost reminiscent of a wolf’s howl. And then the cavalry charges.

 

  
“I’ll hold them off, you open the gates,” Jon commands as more of his men joins him. He’s still facing a formidable amount of enemy warriors. Two of his men flank him on either side, one is armed with a spear and the other, with a Longsword.

Then they hear the distinct horn of Winterfell. The sound sends a shiver on Jon’s spine. “Hurry!” he shouts then lunges for the nearest enemy. He lops off the arm of the unfortunate man while merely avoiding a slash from another ironborn. He swings Longclaw in a wide arc, forcing the enemy to step back. He finally hears the creaking of the gates as it is being pulled open. Then more men comes through the gate once it is wide enough.

“Clear the way!” Jon shouts in the din of battle. The streets of the town are runnig red with blood and gore. He sees men crying in agony. A street of guts, cut-off limbs and lifeless bodies surrounds them. “Make way for the cavalry!” Jon shouts again before moving through the streets. He catches his breath and finally feels tired from all his exertions. He rests for a moment against a wall when all of a sudden an ironborn lunges at him with a warhammer. He deflects the first blow but the second one hits him squarely on the chest.

The wind is knocked out of his lungs as he lays prone on the ground. He waits for another blow to finish him off... It never comes but his consciousness fades just in time as he hears the cavalry passing by.

* * *

 

  
Jon hears a soft voice murmuring in his ears. “Don’t die. Please don’t die,” the voice continues almost like a whisper. “It would be such a disappointment if you do,” the it says. Then he feels a hand clasping his palm - a certain warmth radiating from it. “Please wake up, you fool!” He hears the voice once again, this time it is almost pleading. “You can’t die just like that.” And then there is silence but he can still feel the hand on his palm. Suddenly, he feels warm and moist lips on his cheek. He tries to open his eyes... and in the blurriness, he sees a cascade of auburn hair framing the sides of his face.

“What are you doing?” He hears another voice and the hand lets go of his palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Pardon for the late update. Thanks for reading this and I may rewrite some parts or add something to it. Anyways, your thoughts and comments are very much appreciated! :)


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